Never Could Say Goodbye
by Amelia Bright
Summary: Anatole Parsons was the winner of the 28th Hunger Games, and District 12's first victor. Follow his story from his reaping to his death. ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I've always wanted to know what happened to District 12's other victor, and since no one else (that I'm aware of) has written about him/her, I decided to do it myself. I've wanted to write this story for a while, but I finally got my muse from listening to a song called "Anatole", which is by one of my favorite bands, Hotel Lights. All credit for "Anatole" goes to Darren Jessee, songwriter and creator of Hotel Lights. If anyone can find another story about District 12's mysterious victor, please suggest it to me, I'd love to read it.**

The mines of District 12 are a hard place to work. Ask my father, my uncle, or any member of my family for that matter. There's always a chance of getting killed, whether by an explosion, falling rocks, or choking on coal dust. That's how my grandfather died.

The tools we use are dangerous too. Some can even crush bone. That's how my brother lost the ring finger on his right hand, and how my cousin got her crippled foot. Yeah, even some girls have to work in the coal mines.

But the mines are no where near as dangerous as the Hunger Games, as all of District 12's past tributes had discovered.

The morning of the reaping for the 28th Hunger Games, I woke up to a cold breeze rushing into my window and through my black hair. The door to my room opened, and my father's sad, tired eyes glanced in.

"Get ready," he said, his voice, as always, whisper soft. I nodded, and he walked away as quietly as he had come to the door.

My reaping clothes were nothing special, not even worth description. I walked out of my room and into the kitchen of our small, one-floor house. My father sat at the table, staring into space, while my brother, Orien, kept his gray eyes cast down at the table. We ate breakfast in silence, and we walked to the reaping in silence. Orien waved forlornly at me before heading to the fifteen-year-old section. I went to the eighteen-year-old section.

Mayor Frederick Colton gave his speech, and my mind was numb until it was over.

The new escort, Frally Frills (good grief), stood on the stage at waved excitedly to the crowd.

"Welcome all! I'm sure you're excited about the reaping this year!"

I smirked. Frally had just been demoted from covering reapings at the Capitol, where they thoroughly enjoyed it, to District 12, where the Games were a death wish. She looked uncomfortable as no one made a sound.

"Okay… Ladies first!" she shouted giddily, and brought her hand into the bowl. "Our girl this year is… Larissa Gerard!"

A girl from the merchant class walked up the steps, her blond hair waving back and forth in a long braid down her back. She was small; she couldn't be any older than fourteen.

"Oooh, aren't you adorable! Those blue eyes of yours are gorgeous! Welcome to the Games!"

Larissa looked at her, terrified and puzzled.

"And our boy tribute will be… Anatole Parsons!"

It took a moment for my mind to register that Anatole Parsons was me. When I finally did, I tried to put on an indifferent face as I walked up the steps, but I knew that if anyone looked at my eyes, the fear was clear for everybody to see.

I stood next to Larissa, and she looked even tinier up close. I made a mental note to ask her how old she was later.

Frally's artificially golden eyes were trained on me, going over every inch of by body with keen interest. I tried not to flinch.

"We've got ourselves a handsome fellow! This ends the reaping! Please, let's hear a round of applause for the tributes of District 12, Larissa Gerard and Anatole Parsons, and let's hear it for the 28th Hunger Games!"

Only a few people clapped, slowly and hesitantly. I was frozen to the stage, and a Peacekeeper had to drag me by the arm in order to get me to move.

"Please, have a seat," he said gruffly, pushing me back forcefully. I sank into the couch. Immediately, Orien came in the door. He shuffled over to me, one hand in his pocket, one hanging by his side.

When he pulled his hand out of his pocket, there was a piece of coal with a hole in it, and a piece of twine looped through the hole. Orien carefully placed it into my hand.

"Um, I made this when I was twelve, the day of my first reaping. I made it so that if either of us went into the Games, we could have it as our token. It's yours now, Anatole."

"Thanks," I managed to say, "You know, I don't think I'm going to survive."

Orien blinked hard, and I saw tears begin to form in his eyes. He opened them again, and said in a shaky whisper, "Neither do I. But you at least have to try."

He picked up the makeshift necklace and lifted it over my head. I bent my neck and let the twine land at my collar bone. At that same moment, my father came into the room.

"Hello, sons," he said, his voice tired and weak, "I have something important to tell both of you. I know that I told you that your mother was dead, but that's not true. She… she left me, us, for a man from the merchant class. It was right after you were born, Orien, so you don't even remember her, but I'm sure you do Anatole, if just barely. In a way, you were both named after her, you know. Her name was Easter. Anatole, your name means "from the east", and Orien, yours means "the east", also called the orient. I loved her so much, that's why I didn't realize she was seeing another man until it was too late. I'm sorry for keeping this secret for so long, but it finally seemed like the right time to tell you."

I couldn't think of anything to say, and from the looks of it, neither could Orien. How hard must it have been for our father, keeping that shameful secret for so long? Before I had a chance to speak, a Peacekeeper marched in.

"Time's up," he announced, and guided (pushed, really) Orien and my father out the door.

I never even said goodbye.


	2. Chapter 2

We boarded the train. Frally was smiling as Larissa and I sat down in the tribute car.

"Okay, guys, we're gonna watch the reapings from the other districts, then we'll eat lunch. Since District 12 hasn't had a victor yet, a weapons and combat expert from the Capitol is going to be your mentor! Won't that be great?"

I mumbled something unintelligible, and Larissa replied with an optimistic, "Yeah. I bet he'll have so much to teach us."

Frally grinned even wider, appreciating the young girl's enthusiasm.

"Let's turn on the TV then."

With a flash, District 1 appeared on the television. Back home, to watch the Hunger Games, my family would have to go to someone else's house, since we didn't have a TV of our own.

The boy tribute from One was named Gerik. He had slicked-back white-blond hair, and hazel eyes with a ring of light green around the pupils. He'd definitely have a lot of female sponsors. His partner, Esmerelda, was elegant and beautiful, with a confidence to her step that made her absolutely stunning. Her green eyes sparkled, and despite her beauty, and the fact that she was from District 1, she looked intelligent.

District Two had a fiercely scowling girl with silky brown hair and a muscular boy with startlingly dark brown eyes. Their names were announced as Luana and Quinlan.

The District 3 boy had a frizzy mane of unkempt hair and horn-rimmed black glasses. His name, Fritz, suited him perfectly. The girl looked just as nerdy, with her short stature and dirty blond hair, but she has a freckled pixie nose under her more stylish glasses that made her almost cute. Lucretia was her name.

The boy and girl from District 4 both had the typical auburn hair and sea-green eyes. The girl, Jeneva, had her shiny hair flowing all the way down her back to her waist, and the boy, Ervin, was muscular- built for fishing.

The District 5 boy had fox-red hair and a freckle-covered face. Aiden was his name. He looked clever. Farren, the girl, appeared very weak, skinny and scraggly-haired. However, her eyes were the prettiest blue I had ever seen. The color of the sky.

The District 6 tributes were another pair of nerds. Thirteen-year-old Seymour, with his pale skin and mousy brown hair, looked like he had never stepped foot outside of his house. He had pale green eyes to go with his skin. Seventeen-year-old Shayne was pale too, and her movements were clumsy and awkward.

Sylvester from Seven was lanky, and he had reddish brown hair and brown eyes. His partner, Oakley, had the same brown eyes, but short black hair instead.

The District 8 tributes were next. In my opinion, Eight always had the saddest tributes, like they had all given up on their lives the moment they turned twelve. The boy followed that theme. Named Webster, in reference to the district's textile production, he had sunken-in hazel eyes, and flat, lifeless brown hair. But his counterpart, Devin, was fiercely defiant. She actually spat on the escort, then jerked her chin up in the air. For some reason, that fighting spirit appealed to me, as well as her calculating jade-green eyes.

The Nine boy, Lester, was sleazy looking, his black hair slicked back with heavy grease. He was eighteen, my age. His face was pock-marked with acne scars. I felt like I needed to take a shower just looking at him. The girl, Diane, looked wild, like the ancient hunting goddess she was named for. She had twigs and leaves in her light blond hair, and her eyes were pale silvery blue, like moonlight.

The boy from Ten was named Yale. He had a deep tan, which looked odd with his sun-bleached blond hair. His partner Ellema was also very tan, but that was set off by her pleasant demeanor, as well as chocolate brown hair and eyes.

The tributes from District 11 were dark-skinned, with dark hair and eyes to match. Their names were Dagan and Rhodes, both referring to agriculture in some way.

The moment I had been dreading came up. Our reaping. As Larissa walked up, I realized that Frally had been right. She really did have gorgeous eyes. They were clear blue, the color of the stained-glass windows I had seen in some pictures of the Capitol. I saw myself stand stiff as Frally called my name. I saw myself walk up the steps, thick black hair being blown by the wind, and gray eyes filled with unbridled fear. Until watching myself on TV, I never realized how undernourished I was. I bet if I took my shirt off, I'd be able to count every rib, and see every vertebra in my spine. It was an unnerving thought.

I cringed again as I watched Frally's eyes scan me so intently on the screen, and felt my own surprise as the Peacekeeper gripped me tightly around the arm and dragged me into the Justice Building. The other tributes probably think I'm a basket case. They're probably right.

"We've got some competition this year! Thank goodness, last year's tributes were so boring. Don't you guys remember?" Frally babbled.

I did. Both of Twelve's tributes had died in the bloodbath, along with both tributes from Eight, the girl from Seven, both from Ten and Eleven, the boy from Five, the girl from Three, and the boy from Six. The winner was typical, a freakishly buff Career boy from Two. For once, I had to agree with Frally. Last year was a boring Game.

"Actually," Larissa said quietly, "Our boy tribute last year was my friend. He was an outcast for the most part. The rest of my friends didn't really like him because he was from the Seam."

She glanced at me, knowing that I was from the Seam, hoping that I wouldn't get offended.

Frally's eyes, to my surprise, softened with sympathy. "I'm so sorry to hear that, Larissa. I really am. What was his name? I forgot."

Larissa gulped, she looked like she was on the verge of tears. "Nash. Nash Frockland. He was a great friend, and really adventurous. He often talked about running away from District 12, exploring the lands beyond Panem. I think a Peacekeeper might have overheard him. I... I think his reaping was fixed."

My heart reached out to the little girl. How hard that must've been, to lose someone who meant so much to you. I wouldn't really know. My mother left before I even got to know her. I've never had a friend.

"Larissa, how old are you?" I asked, hoping that my voice didn't sound as shaky as my heart felt.

She tilted her head to the side, confused by the question. She looked so innocent. So young. So undeserving of death. "Thirteen. Why?"

I felt a lump rise in my throat. "Um, I need a minute alone." I went in the bathroom, closed the door, and puked into the sink.

**AN: If you go on one of those baby-name websites, you can actually find what a lot of these names mean. I tried to make a lot of them reference the District they are from, or at least their personality. Even Mayor Colton's name is D12 related!**


	3. Chapter 3

I heard a soft knock on the bathroom door. "Anatole," Larissa said quietly, "Are you okay? You're gonna miss lunch."

I was bent over the toilet. I opened my eyes as black dots danced across my vision. How long had I been in the bathroom? Did I pass out? I took a shaky breath to calm myself down.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'll be there." I opened the door, and Larissa's blue eyes widened. Her expression had an emotion that I couldn't read.

"Are you sure you're okay? You look awful."

I blinked, then turned around to face the mirror. She was right; I did look awful. All the blood had drained from my face. I looked as pale as a ghost. Or at least as pale as an olive skin tone would allow.

"What happened? Please tell me, I won't laugh," Larissa implored, her eyes sincere.

I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to clear my thoughts. "The reality of the Games just came crashing down on me." She nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, me too. Anatole, I don't want to die, but I don't want you to die either. I can't sort out my thoughts."

_Welcome to my world_, I thought bitterly. "Larissa, don't let this upset you too much, please. That's the last thing I want to do. But chances are, we're both going to die. The only difference is, you don't deserve it."

For a heartbeat, she looked angry. "You don't deserve it either! None of these kids deserve it! In fact, you're probably the only one here who actually thinks that you do. Don't put yourself down like that."

Maybe she had a point. "Alright, let's not get too depressed now. The Games haven't even started yet. Let's go eat lunch."

"Okay. And Anatole…" she paused for a moment.

"Yes?"

"Will you be my ally?" she pleaded, "Please?"

I gave her a sad smile. "How could I not?"

* * *

><p>The lunch was marvelous. Completely wasteful and over-extravagant, but marvelous. I probably hadn't seen this much food in all my eighteen years combined.<p>

I wasn't sure what to eat first, so I engorged myself on everything in sight. A strange feeling started. I felt bloated, like my stomach was going to burst, but pleasant, as if something inside of me was completed.

"I feel weird," I said, hoping someone could explain to me what this feeling was. Frally smirked knowingly.

"It's called being 'full', my dear Anatole. It's what happens when you eat _more_ that one slice of bread a day."

I scoffed at this. "Bread? A whole slice-full? In District 12? Yeah, maybe when I become mayor."

Larissa chuckled. She could tell what I was up to, making fun of Frally's assumptions about the District 12 way of life.

"Well, eat while you can," Frally said, not getting it, "When you get into the arena, there won't be much food."

I laughed. "Oh, don't worry about me, Frally. I'm used to going for months on end without food!"

Frally gasped, "Oh, you poor dear!" She actually looked like she pitied me.

I looked over at Larissa, raising my eyebrows comically. She snickered.

"I'm just joking with you, Frally. It's bad, but not that bad. The longest I've gone without food is four weeks."

This time, Larissa looked shocked. "Really? Is that even possible? You look scrawny, but I didn't realize… I just… I thought… I can't imagine what it must be like to live in the Seam, I… I can't believe it. Oh my gosh, Anatole, how do you do it? How do any of you live past age ten?"

I really didn't know. I shrugged. "High endurance, I guess." I always knew that the merchants had it better off than us. I guess I didn't realize how much better off.

"I feel so guilty," Larissa whispered.

"Well don't, it's not your fault."

Frally looked like she couldn't believe what she was hearing either. "Anatole," she said, "Could you…?"

It didn't seem like she could finish her sentence, but I could tell what she meant. I was hesitant at first, but then I saw Larissa's big blue eyes trained on me, and I couldn't bring myself to say no. Carefully, slowly, I lifted up my shirt.

Frally's face twisted in an indescribable emotion. She turned her head away. I looked down. I had been right. I could see every rib, every contort of my body that had always been covered by an article of clothing. I couldn't help but notice that I was hopelessly, unnaturally skinny.

Larissa made a sound that was half-gasp, half-sob. Feeling self-conscious, I let my shirt fall back over my chest and torso. Before I could register what she was doing, Larissa ran forward and hugged me tightly, as if she couldn't bear to let go. She buried her head in my chest, and I could feel her sobs wrack her small body.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, "I'm so, so sorry."

I crouched down to my knees, hugging her back. I started to cry too.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. The whole night, I had been plagued by gruesome images of my own death. The lanky boy from Seven chopping my head off with an axe. The wild girl from Nine sending a spear flying, piercing through my back and coming out of my chest with a spurt of blood. The Careers, with sharp knives, holding me down and slashing my skin to ribbons until I slowly, agonizingly bled my life out. The sound of their laughter still roared in my ears.

The door burst open. Frally stood there, grinning. Her matching gold hair and eyes shone unnaturally in the florescent lights.

"Breakfast!" she announced, "But first, take a couple minutes to get ready. Take a shower and change clothes. Then meet us back in the dining car."

She walked out the door to give Larissa the same message. I stripped down and got into the shower. I wasn't sure how to work the controls, so I just pushed a button, and luckily enough, hot water streamed out of the faucet. It seeped through my hair and ran down my back. It was surprisingly soothing, which helped relax my frayed nerves. After putting on some clothes, I walked down to the dining car.

"Hi, Anatole!" Larissa welcomed me cheerfully. It was nice to see her in a good mood. There had been too much crying yesterday.

"Hi yourself," I said, smiling, "How'd you sleep?"

"Great, actually. The sheets were really soft."

Lucky girl. I thought back to my nightmares and shuddered.

"Well sit, sit! Eat, eat!" Frally interrupted.

"Right. Sorry." I took the seat next to Larissa. For the first time, I noticed the boy sitting on the other side of the table. His eyes glinted dark silver.

"Who's that?" I asked.

"Oh, that's-" Frally began.

"I'm your mentor," the boy said simply, "The name's Aleron."

"Exactly," Frally said, desperate to get back into the conversation, "He's the weapons and combat expert I told you about."

I analyzed Aleron again. He looked to be about fifteen. Same age as Orien.

"A fifteen-year-old's gonna be our mentor? As if we weren't screwed already!"

Quickly as I said it, Aleron jumped onto the top of the table and over the other side. He had me in a headlock before I could even blink.

"I'm the best mentor you could ask for," he hissed into my ear, "I know more about fighting than most Careers, and if I wanted to, I could've broken your neck just now. You may be older, but you've got nothing on me, skinny boy. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," I sputtered.

Satisfied, he released my neck and sent me to the floor with a thud. I eased myself back to my feet with a chair, and glanced at Larissa. She was having a hard time holding back her chuckling.

"Oh yeah?" I teased, "You wouldn't be laughing if he had really broken my neck."

That only made her laugh more. I rolled my eyes and gave her a gentle shove on the shoulder. I sat down. The food was, once again, mouth-watering. The platter in front of me had eggs, flat circles of bread with a honey-like substance drizzled over them, and sizzling strips of bacon. I dug my fork into the bread, tore off a bite, and stuck it in my mouth. It tasted amazing.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Pancakes," Larissa replied, "Back home, my family would have them for breakfast every Sunday."

"Well, they're great!"

After eating for a few more minutes, we headed to another car in the train. Aleron spoke up. "Okay. Now is the start of your training. What are your strengths?" He stared at us with his steelly eyes.

Larissa and I shared a look. I could tell that we were thinking the same thing. She's only thirteen; I'm practically a walking corpse. What advantages could we possibly have?

"Um, I'm not dead yet?" I mustered.

Aleron rolled his eyes. "It doesn't even have to directly relate to the Games. What is anything you're good at? Just something."

"I'm good in school," Larissa offered, "The best in my class. And I, um, well, I'm pretty good at art."

Aleron smirked at me. "See? That's something we can work with. Larissa, you're a good artist: try your hand at camouflage. You're good in school: learn about plants that can be eaten or heal wounds. Now, Anatole, you've got to be good for something. Just think about it. Tell me something that will prove to me that you're not just another bloodbath."

He watched me expectantly. Larissa bit her lip. Frally was still eating.

"Endurance, maybe. I'm used to going for quite a while with no food. I'm virtually unremarkable. Other tributes probably won't waist their time with me because I don't seem like a threat." Although, chances are I don't seem like a threat because I'm not a threat.

"That's a start, but I'll need more. What do you do daily? Do you have a job?"

"Yes. I work in the coal mines with my father and brother."

"Ah, good. So you must have some muscle in those shoulders."

"Uh, I suppose so."

"Not convincing enough," he said. He walked closer, eyes narrowed, inspecting me carefully, circling around my back. "Lo and behold, I was right!" he exclaimed, "Oh, I love being right. Anatole, you've got strong shoulders. There's hope for you yet."

He walked around again, whispering under his breath, "Uh huh. Wiry arms, sturdy back. I've struck potential."

"Well, congratulations," he said at last, "Looks like you'll make it past the bloodbath."

Larissa smiled at me warmly.

The train came to a halt. Frally squealed, "Ah, the Capitol at last!"

**AN: It would be nice if I could get some reviews. I know there are some people at least glancing at my story, so it would be nice if you could read it and write a review. You can even tell me that you think it sucks! But only if you really do think it sucks. **

**Anyway, tell me whether you like it don't like, what you do or don't like. I'm really not picky, I'm just kind of disappointed that no one's reviewed. It makes me kinda sad. DX**


	5. Chapter 5

"District 12 is a little bit behind the other tribute trains, so I need to get you two to your stylists, fast," Frally explained as we rushed out of the train, "They're going to make you look FAB-U-LOUS!"

"I'm not sure if I want to look fabulous," I said apprehensively. The District 12 stylists' idea of 'fabulous' was always coal mining outfits. And inaccurately designed coal mining outfits at that.

"If you want sponsors you do!" she snapped.

We were hauled to the Remake Center before I could argue.

* * *

><p>I was surrounded by the three weirdest people I had seen in my life. One was a woman with blue skin and pink hair. Another had so many tattoos covering their face, I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. The third was a woman, with thin, arched eyebrows and jewels embedded along her hairline. As if it wasn't a weird enough experience, I was stark naked while they circled around me, trying to figure out their plan of attack.<p>

The tattooed one sighed. "Every year it's the same emaciated tributes. It would be nice to work on someone who's more than skin and bones for once." From the voice, it was definitely a man.

"Be nice!" the blue one (I think her name was Luma) tittered in her Capitol accent, "He can't help it! But good grief, why do you have such bushy eyebrows, kid?"

"It runs in the family," I muttered.

The bejeweled lady clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Why do never shave your armpits? Or your legs?" she questioned.

"Because I'm a guy?"

She sighed. "Well, it's revolting."

Luma nodded. "I was thinking the same thing, Muse. How about you, Zeus?"

"I think we should stop talking and get this over with," he grumbled.

Luma nodded, and they got to work.

After about two hours, Luma finally exclaimed, "Done!" She, Muse, and Zeus looked at me one more time and nodded in satisfaction.

"Alright!" Muse chimed in, "We can turn you over to Cicero now."

Cicero was an, um, _interesting_ guy, to say the least. He was about fifty and had so many face-lifts, botox, and who knows what else, that he didn't look human any more. Moldy green hair and unnerving black eyes completed the look.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up the coal necklace Orien had given me.

"It's my token," I replied warily. What was he going to do with it, paint it magenta?

"Ah, I like it. Yes, I think this needs to be a visible feature in your chariot outfit." He didn't have the typical Capitol accent, instead, his voice seemed to linger in the air at the end of every syllable. With that and his appearance, it was almost as if he wanted to be creepy.

He clapped his hands together, making me jump. "Alright!" he exclaimed, "It's time to get you ready!"

When he finished I was in (surprise, surprise) a coal miner gettup. And as Cicero had promised, the twine-strung lump of coal was prominent, the top few buttons of my shirt open so it could be seen resting against my chest. I also got to see what the prep team had done. My "bushy" eyebrows, as Luma had called them, were less dense and hairy, but had luckily kept their natural shape. I had been worried that they would turn out looking like Muse's. My usually shaggy black hair had been cut, but it was still a mess. "Tastefully scruffy", as Zeus had put it.

"Don't you look amazing!" Cicero gushed, "You'll be marvelous on the chariot!"

"So, is this what you wear for mining coal?" Larissa asked when I came out. Her costume was identical to mine, but smaller.

I looked down at the outfit again. "Well, it's close."

"Hey, hey!" Frally shouted, pointing at the chariot, "Get in! We can't have a tribute-less chariot! Go. GO!"

The horses pulling the chariot were dark gray, with black flecks covering their haunches and black manes and tails to match. As the chariot pulled out, Larissa's eyes widened.

"There are so many people," she said in awe.

"I know," I agreed, nodding. _And they're all waiting to watch us die_, I thought bitterly. I put on a false smile for the crowd anyway.

I looked at the other districts' chariots up ahead. District 1, pulled by honey-colored horses, were decorated in dazzling jewels. Esmerelda's dazzling green eyes matched the emeralds, and her black hair was pulled into a sleek bun. Gerik smirked dangerously.

District 2 were dressed as Peacekeepers. Quinlan held a fake gun, and the whip in Luana's hands make me shudder. I had seen a Peacekeeper use one of those whips before; it wasn't pretty.

The District 3 costumes were strange black jumpsuits decorated with what looked like a circuit board. Lucretia looked uncomfortable, twitching distractedly in the skintight jumpsuit. Fritz put on a goofy grin and waved at the mass of viewers.

District 4, as always, looked amazing, with shells and coral overflowing from the blue-green chariot. The horses were pure white, like the foam that crested the ocean waves.

District 5 was all gray. The tributes wore dingy gray factory uniforms, and the flint-gray chariot was pulled by pale gray horses. Farren seemed to shrink away, as if she thought that by making herself smaller, she could become invisible.

The District 6 tributes were dressed in white labcoats. Syringes in hand, both Seymour and Shayne looked off in different directions, trying to avoid eye contact with each other and the crowd.

District 7 was apparently supposed to look like forest spirits, with dark green outfits covered in leaves. They both had on dark green lipstick as well. The boy probably didn't enjoy that...

District 8's outfits were woven from thread in a myriad of bright colors. Electric yellow. Cerulean blue. Exotic green. Vivid pink. Simmering orange. Blood red. Defiant Devin sneered at the crowd. Sullen Webster stared down at his feet.

Lester from District 9 looked out of place in the hunter's uniform him and his partner had to wear. It seemed even his prep team couldn't get the greasiness out of his hair. He smiled wide, showing chipped, yellow teeth. Diane, on the other hand, fit perfectly as a hunter. Equipped with a bow and arrow, she looked aloof and dangerous.

The District 10 tributes were farmers, with overalls and plaid shirts. The horses pulling the chariot were the color of mud. Ellema smiled sweetly for the crowd, and Yale tossed his straw hat into the audience, causing a mad scramble of people trying to catch it. He gave a good-natured thumbs up to the blue-haired woman who finally caught it.

The boy from District 11, Dagan, probably had the most unfortunate outfit. He was dressed as an ear of corn. The embarassment was evident in his eyes. Rhodes had on a pale blue maid's dress that complimented her dark skin, and a rose in her hair.

The Capitol audience screamed in excitement and anticipation. Within in a few weeks, twenty-three of us would be dead. Let the Games begin.


	6. Chapter 6

It was the first day of training, and after hours of trying stations where I could do absolutely nothing, I sat down for lunch. Larissa had stayed in the edible plants station.

"Hey, Ana!" a voice called. I waited for it to finish with "–tole", but it never did. I sighed and looked up towards the voice. It was, surprisingly, Aiden from District 5.

"That's not my name, you know."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but your real name is sort of weird. Besides, I give everyone nicknames," he replied casually, "Anyway, I came to ask if you wanted to be allies. How's that sound?"

I blinked in shock. "Really?"

He laughed. "Yes, really! You seem tough; I bet you're a pretty cool guy."

I highly doubted that, but I wouldn't correct him.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Sixteen," he said proudly.

"Alright then. Allies sounds good. But-" I jerked my head toward Larissa, "Larissa and I are already allies. So if you join up, she's part of the deal."

He shrugged again. "Works for me. The more the merrier."

I couldn't help but laugh, because honestly, Aiden was a peculiar kid.

"Well," he continued, "I'm gonna check out some more stations. Later!"

He ran off, and I forced myself to go to more stations as well. The fist one that caught my eye was the sword station. And the reason it caught my eye was because Aleron was standing inside. I walked over to it.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "It's my job, Anatole. I happen to be an _expert _on sword fighting, so I work at this station. What, did you think I was just here to train you?"

"No, not particularly…"

He shrugged. "Anyway, since you're here, you might as well learn something. Come on in."

I glanced at him, noticing for the first time an intricate silver tattoo of a sword on his right arm. So, he was pretty serious about this sword thing. I, on the other hand, was pretty incompetent about it, and he ended the session with a frustrated moan.

"You are completely hopeless. That is not how you handle a sword. That's how you handle a _knife_," he growled.

"So I should switch weapons then?" I supposed.

His face brightened as if that had never occurred to him. "Of course!" he exclaimed, "Let's get you to the knife station, pronto!"

"Hey!" a third voice interrupted angrily, "You're not going anywhere, trainer guy. I need some sword practice. Now."

I turned to see the seventeen year-old boy from District 1, Gerik. His hazel eyes narrowed at me. "And you, District 12. Get outta my sight," he snarled.

I looked back at Aleron, who threw up his hands helplessly. "Sorry," he mouthed. Not wanted to get Gerik any angrier, I quickly exited the station without a word.

When I arrived at the knife station, there were a few other tributes there, Esmerelda from One and the pair from Eleven. I chose a knife from the wide array of options. It was amazing how easy its small size was to handle.

"Not bad," the trainer said, nodding approvingly. I smiled. Maybe I wasn't so hopeless after all.

**AN: Sorry for the long wait. Been having writer's block on this story, and the training days have proven themselves hard to write. But write them I must! Anyway, I promise the next chapter won't take as long, and it will be much longer.**


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I'm skippin' the rest of training and going straight to the scores and interviews! "But Amelia, why on earth would you do that?" you might ask, "The training is so exciting and vital to the plot!" The answer is quite simple: It's not. Frankly, the training sessions are boring, hard to write, and not all that important. Sorry to disappoint, if I did, but on to the story!**

I gazed up at the screen as I awaited my measly training score. I had been so nervous during the Gamemaker session, and I knew I hadn't done very well. And now that fact would be broadcast to everyone, fellow tributes and possible sponsors alike. _Great_.

The screen finally flashed to life, and the scores were shown one district at a time.

Gerik Ford, District One, score 10.

Esmerelda Martine, District One, score 8.

Quinlan Burrs, District Two, score 9.

Luana Cartna, District Two, score 8.

Fritz Fieldburg, District Three, score 2.

Lucretia Daneer, District Three, score 1.

Ervin Wells, District Four, score 9.

Jeneva Townsend, District Four, score 7.

Aiden Moore, District Five, score 5.

Farren Ridgemont, District Five, score 1.

Seymour Louts, District Six, score 3.

Shayne Roberson, District Six, score 4.

Sylvester McBean, District Seven, score 6.

Oakley Mackenzie, District Seven, score 4.

Webster Johnston, District Eight, score 2.

Devin Richards, District Eight, score 7.

Lester Farnesworth, District Nine, score 5.

Diane Weston, District Nine, score 6.

Yale Jonas, District Ten, score 3.

Ellema Irwell, District Ten, score 3.

Dagan Barnes, District Eleven, score 2.

Rhodes Washington, District Eleven, score 2.

The moment of truth. I clenched my teeth in anticipation.

Anatole Parsons.

My fingernails involuntarily dug harder into the chair.

District Twelve.

I could feel the sweat trailing from my hairline to my chin.

Score...

I could barely breathe.

A solid 4 displayed itself on the screen under my name and district. I slumped over in defeat. A small hand grabbed my shoulder. Startled, I quickly turned my head around and ended up facing Larissa. She gave a small smile. _It's okay. No big deal. You can get through this_, her expression seemed to say. The look lasted only a second, as she turned to read her score, but it seemed longer.

Larissa Gerard, District Twelve, score 3.

Larissa bit her lip. I could see tears start to glisten in her blue eyes. Not so easy when _you're _the one with the low score, is it? I immediately felt guilty for the bitter thought and tried to comfort her.

"You okay?" I whispered.

"No," she sniffed, "We're both going to die, aren't we?"

I remembered when I had said something similar on the train, and she had scolded me.

I thought for a long moment before saying, "We can't know for sure yet, but I promise, I try as hard as I can to make sure you don't die."

She gazed up at me with such a desperate, miserable look when she replied quietly, "But what about you?"

I shrugged. "I'll worry about that later. You are _not _going to die on me. Do you understand?"

She nodded. After a few minutes of silence, she spoke up again, "Anatole?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Thank you. You're like the older brother I never had."

"Really?" I asked, caught off guard by the statement, "Do you have any siblings?"

"Yeah. Two younger brothers, a younger sister, and an older sister. But I've always wanted an older brother, and now I feel like I have one. Didn't you say you had a brother? What's his name; how old is he?"

"Orien. He's fifteen."

"Do you miss him?"

My voice caught in my throat, and I fought back the urge to burst into tears. "So much," I choked out.

Before Larissa could say anything else, a voice called over the intercom, "Tribute interviews are about to begin. All tributes please gather in the designated waiting room so you can get to the stage quickly as possible when your name is called. Thank you."

* * *

><p>The "designated waiting room" was simply a room full of chairs, facing a handy television screen in the corner. We walked in, Larissa clutching my arm. Aiden gave me a slight nod, and I went to sit in the chair next to him; Larissa sat next to me. The TV came on, showing Caesar waving frantically to the total surrounding crowd.<p>

"Ladies and gentleman," he announced, "Welcome to the interviews. First is Esmerelda Martine from District One!"

She strode up to the stage, radiating confidence.

"My, my, what a beauty!" Caesar exclaimed, "Please, sit down. Your stylist did an amazing job with that dress! Who did you have?"

Esmerelda smiled brightly and replied, "Only the best for District One, of course. My stylist is the one and only Maurice Gaston. He's simply brilliant."

"I would have to agree! So, are you by chance the niece of previous District One victor Onyx Martine?"

"That would be correct. I really look up to my uncle; he's taught me everything I know."

_Everything you know, huh? Like fighting to the death and a taste for human flesh? _I thought, and chuckled to myself. If only Caesar would ask that question.

"In that case, you'd say you have a good chance of winning, I assume?"

"I repeat," she said, giving that smile once again, "Only the best for District One."

* * *

><p>"Gerik, why did you decide to volunteer this year?"<p>

He smirked, for what seemed to be the eleventh time in this interview alone. "Because I want to win. And, in the end, isn't that all that really matters? People tell me, all the time, 'It's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game.' They're wrong. It's about winning."

Caesar cocked an eyebrow. "Indeed," he said dryly, "So, a ten. That's a pretty impressive training score. Are you worried that you can't live up to that hype?"

"Not at all. In fact, I find it insulting. I should have gotten a twelve, _at least!_"

Caesar sighed, noticeably annoyed. "You do realize that twelve is the highest possible score, right?"

* * *

><p>"And District Five starts with Farren Ridgemont, age fifteen. Farren, what is your strategy for the Games?"<p>

She swallowed nervously, eyes wide. "I don't want to die."

Caesar chuckled, "Alright, then. Do you miss your family?"

Farren's lip quivered. "Yes. My mother is devastated; she can't bare to lose me. I don't want to die."

"I'm sure no one here does. So, are you going to try extra hard to go home? For your mother?"

"I don't know. I just don't want to die."

She was a bloodbath for sure. Then again, what were the chances I was any better?

* * *

><p>"Give it up for that, um... kind young lady!" Caesar's exclamation was followed by a half-hearted applause from the audience. "And now, her district partner, Aiden Moore!"<p>

Aiden walked to the steps with an effortless smile. All freckles and red hair, I was sure no one would be able to take him seriously. Which was why I was surprised when he had such a deep answer to Caesar's first question.

"Have a special girl back home, Aiden?"

"Yes," he replied, his smile changing from crowd-pleasing to wistful, "I have a girlfriend. Norina."

Caesar nodded approvingly. "Pretty name. What is she like?"

"She's... she's just amazing, Caesar. Beautiful: long dark brown hair and haunting violet-blue eyes. And she has this wonderful white smile. It's blinding. She takes my breath away. Every time I see her, I fall in love again."

"So, that means..."

"That's right. I have to get back to her, no matter what."

"Aiden, would you like to say anything to Norina?" Caesar asked, his face softened with sympathy.

"Yes," he said, turning to face the camera, "Whatever you do, Norina, don't cry. I'm coming home, Norrie. Look at my eyes. It's alright. I won't let them kill me. I'll see you soon. You'll carry on until then; I know you will. You've always been stronger than me." He laughed softly.

Just then, the buzzer went off, signaling the end of Aiden's interview. He walked down the steps and back into the waiting room. I tried to get his attention, but he shrugged me off and left the room.

* * *

><p>"Oh-hoh! Getting closer to the Games with every interview!" Caesar announced, "Sends chills up your spine just thinking about it, am I right? District Eight, Devin Richards, you're up!"<p>

"Hello," she said curtly.

"Well, Devin, have you enjoyed the Capitol so far?"

She arched an eyebrow. "Honestly?" she asked, in a slightly patronizing tone.

Caesar nodded earnestly. "Honestly."

"No. The colors are too bright, the people are too obnoxious," she glanced meaningfully at Caesar before continuing, "And I have to fight for my life tomorrow. In short, I don't like it."

"Well, someone has a strong opinion!" he chortled, "Everyone here is determined to win, and they're all determined for a reason. What's yours, Miss Richards?"

Devin snorted. "First, don't call me Miss Richards. If you continue, I'll have no choice but to call you Mister Flickerman. Second, I'm determined because I've always been a fighter. I'm going to be a contender in these Games, Caesar. I'll fight until the bitter end. And if I go down, I'll go down a fighter. I'm determined to fight because that's what I do. And hopefully that will be enough to win."

It was official: I was extremely attracted to Devin Richards. Two years younger than me, but with more determination and just plain _fire _than I could ever hope to have. Everything I want; everything I'm not. And kind of pretty.

"Besides being a fighter, do you have any hobbies?"

"Actually," Devin began, looking slightly embarassed, "I do write a little poetry. It's not the best, but... you know, I try."

"Ooh!" Caesar crooned, sounding intrigued, "Please, share some with us."

"Oh, it's really not..."

"Come on, now! Show us! Show us! Show us!" he brought the crowd in to join the chant, apparently not noticing his misuse of the verb.

She shrugged, regaining her composure. "I guess I could share just one. Here it goes." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and recited in a clear, strong voice,

_"A hush falls on the crowd.  
>The girl with eyes of jade climbs the steps.<br>From the outside, she is brave, fearless...  
>But on the inside, she is dying.<br>Time never rests.  
>And in the next instant, she is free, boundless...<br>The girl with eyes of jade lets out a final breath  
>And says goodbye.<br>A hush falls on the crowd."_

* * *

><p>"Yale Jonas!"<p>

"Howdy," the fourteen-year-old from Ten replied.

"You happy to be here?"

"Well, shucks, I sure am. So many purdy ladies here in the Capitol," he turned and hooted, "Howdy, purdy ladies!"

The women all swooned. "Ugh," I muttered. It was like watching a trainwreck. A very, very awkward trainwreck.

Caesar laughed, "I'm impressed. Just _how_ old are you?"

"Fourteen. Why?"

The other tributes sniggered behind me, and someone whispered, "Those Capitol women will fall for anything."

* * *

><p>"Last but not least, our District Twelve tributes. Let's kick things off with Larissa Gerard!"<p>

"Hi," she said sweetly.

Caesar smiled. "Aren't you just adorable?"

Larissa giggled, "Oh, thank you." The crowd was eating her up.

"So, how do you feel about going into the Hunger Games?"

"At first I was really scared, but I've met some nice people. My mentor, Aleron. My escort, Frally. And especially my district partner, Anatole. He's a great friend, and he makes me feel protected. I'm still nervous, but I know that he'll do anything to keep me safe. It's great to have someone who cares about me so much."

Dead silence in the waiting room. It was so quiet that I could hear my heart thudding against my chest. Other tributes glanced at me, as if they couldn't believe that the person sitting near them and the person Larissa was talking about were one and the same. I had a hard time believing it. I didn't feel like I had done all that much for her, but somehow, I had. And it felt good. For the first time in my life, I felt like I was worth something, that I mattered.

"How is life back home?" Caesar asked next, shaking me out of my dazed state.

"Not bad. My family is pretty well off for District Twelve. My mother owns the jewelry store, and my father works for the mayor. I have lots of friends too."

"I don't find that hard to believe. You know, the boy tribute from last year was about the same age as you. Did you know him?"

Larissa smiled at the memory. "Yes. Nash was one of my friends, actually."

This earned a few "aw's" of pity from the Capitol audience. "That's a shame," Caesar replied, "You should try to go home then. To make Nash proud."

* * *

><p>After some more questions, Larissa skipped back down the steps and into the waiting room. She squeezed my hand. "Good luck," she whispered.<p>

"Next is Anatole Parsons!" Caesar's voice rang out, sounding distant, and as I mounted the stage, I realized I had no idea what my angle was, what I was going to say. Oh well, what's the worst that could happen? _Well, I suppose I could end up staring like a dead fish._

"Larissa seems to think the world of you."

"Yeah. That means a lot. She's a special little girl."

"What's you're favorite part of the Capitol so far, Anatole?"

Easy one. "The food, definitely."

Caesar grinned knowingly, "That's my favorite, too. Anything specific that you liked?"

"The pancakes. I've actually never had those before." A collective gasp rose from the surrounding area; even Caesar was open-mouthed in disbelief. _Hey, what's the problem with messing with them even more?_ I wondered with a self-satisfied smirk. "In fact, being able to eat for two days in a row was a nice surprise. I can't even remember the last time that happened." Suckers! These people were as gullible as Frally.

"Oh, that's a shame," Caesar replied, unable to keep the look of horror off his face. He quickly changed the subject, "What's your family like?"

Okay, so that question was slightly harder. "It's... alright. It's just me and my brother, and my dad. My mother's been, um... gone for a while now. Things are pretty quiet around my house. Get three tired, introverted people into the same family, and it can be kind of lonely," I shrugged, "We spend most days -sometimes nights, even- in the mines, so there's not much to talk about that isn't already common knowledge."

"Sounds... downright depressing, actually." I shrugged again. "Is your mother dead?"

"No. She just kind of left. It was years ago, I don't remember her that well anyway. It's no big deal."

"But... she's your mother," Caesar insisted, "Don't you wonder where she is? Don't you care? Don't you think _she _cares?"

"Hardly my mother. She's gone; she just deserted her husband and two sons -we were only kids at the time, you know- without so much as sending a letter. Ever. _She_ obviously doesn't care. Most of my life I thought she was dead, up until two days ago I didn't even know her name. Real mothers don't do that. Yes, I do wonder where she is, but at the same time, no, I don't really care."

The buzzer rang. "Oh, that's too bad," Caesar sad, "We're out of time. Guess we'll learn more about you during the Games." He stood up, his next words for the crowd, "This concludes the interviews. Tomorrow, the 28th Hunger Games begin!"


	8. Author's NoteSneak Peak

**AN: I am taking a break on this story. I'm kind of losing my muse for it, and I REALLY want to work on another fic I have out: _The Life and Times of a Bartender in District 9_. BTW, I'd love it if you'd go check that one out. So I will be pausing this story for a while, but never fear, I will definitely come back to it. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, so I'm going to give you this sneak peak. Enjoy… **

_The girl moves forward, eyes narrowed as if stalking her prey. I can't put a name to her face, but she is another tribute- that much I am certain. She gives a final sickly smile and thrusts her dagger into my heart…_

I screamed, and jerked up in the plush Capitol bed. I scrambled out -made especially difficult by my legs getting caught in the tangled sheets- then landed on the floor in a panting, sweating mess. I stood up, and had just brought my breathing to a normal level when the door swung open.

"It's the biiiiiiig day!" Frally announced, having not heard, or purposely ignoring, my outburst.


End file.
